ELLEN'S SONG.

“SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking: Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle’s enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more:
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

“No rude sound shall reach thine ear,

Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan or squadron tramping, Yet the lark's shrill fife may come

At the day-break from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steeds' neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.

“Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,

While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not, with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveillé.

Sleep! the deer is in his den ;

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,

How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye,
Here no bugles sound reveillé.”

SCOTT.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son,
Aloft, in awful state,
The god-like hero sate

On his imperial throne.
His valiant peers were placed around,
Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound :
So should desert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thaïs, by his side,
Sat like a blooming eastern bride,
In flower of youth, and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the fair.

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Timotheus, placed on high,

Amid the tuneful choir,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre;

The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.-

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain ;

Fought all his battles o'er again ;
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew

the slain!
The master saw the madness rise ; ,
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And while he heaven and earth defied,
Changed his hand, and check'd his pride.

He chose a mournful muse,

Soft pity to infuse:
He sung Darius, great and good!

By too severe a fate,
Fallen! fallen! fallen ! fallen!

Fallen from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood.

Deserted at his utmost need
By those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his

eyes.
With downcast look the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of fate below; And now and then a sigh he stole,

And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smiled, to see
That love was in the next degree :
'Twas but a kindred sound to move;
For pity melts the mind to love.

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Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;

Honour, but an empty bubble ;
Never ending, still beginning,

Fighting still, and still destroying, If the world be worth thy winning,

Think, oh think it worth enjoying ! Lovely Thaïs sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the skies with loud applause : So love was crown'd; but music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,
And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,

Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again;
At length, with love and wine at once oppress’d,
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast !

Now strike the golden lyre again!
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain !
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder!

Hark! hark! the horrid sound

Has raised up his head,

As awakend from the dead;
And, amazed, he stares around.
Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries-

See the furies arise !
See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in their hair,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes !

Behold a ghastly band,
Each a torch in his hand !

These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,

And, unburied, remain
Inglorious on the plain!
Give the vengeance due

To the valiant crew !
Behold! how they toss their torches on high ;

How they point to the Persian abodes,

And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! The princes applaud, with a furious joy; And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy;

Thaïs led the way,

To light him to his prey !
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy!

DRYDEN.

ARIEL'S SONG.

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly,

After summer, merrily :
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

SHAKSPEARE.

FAIRY SONG.

OVER hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire.